Part 6 (1/2)

Tatiana ran, tripping down the stairs in her haste to be rid of him. As she came to the front hall, she saw her father coming from his study to investigate the noise of her escape. Her gaze flew over the hall, desperate to find a place of sanctuary. She threw the thick door open, hearing her father coming fast behind her. He called out her name, but she didn't stop.

The night air hit her like a chilly, foreboding blast. She flinched, blinking rapidly as moisture stung her cheeks. She hadn't realized tears escaped her eyes as she fled the Count. Seeing a carriage readied at the bottom of the steps--a black, enclosed, imposing affair of rich elegance--she ground to a halt. Four black horses pawed nervously, feeling her tense intrusion into their midst. The animals were dressed in black, as if in mourning. Their heads bobbed at her in protest.

”Tatiana,” called her father's voice behind her, stern. ”What is the meaning of this?”

”Tatiana,” sounded another call, more fervent, yet gentle. Her eyes left off looking for her father to find Thomas. Suddenly, she was very afraid for him to be there.

”Thomas--” Her words were cut off by a resounding smack and a groan of pain. She found Thomas lying on the ground in a daze, his mouth and nose bleeding. Standing above him, unmoving and unaffected, was the Count.

Tatiana gasped, seeing the Count's face clearly for the first time. He was caressed by moonlight, so pale and beautiful. She'd been sure her demon would be deformed. But, instead, he was like a G.o.d standing amongst mortals. His face could've been chiseled from stone, for all he moved. His brooding gaze of dark brown pierced forward to her, waiting patiently as her eyes roamed him, taking their fill.

His hands were folded neatly, intertwining and relaxed before him. His clothes were of fine silk, cut from the darkest of blacks and reds. A wide black cape, lined with blood red velvet, hung over his shoulders, sweeping with ease around his body as the breeze stirred it against his muscular calves and thighs. She wasn't sure she'd seen his particular manner of dress before. His style appeared old, out of fas.h.i.+on, and yet suited him admirably well. A silver chain, belonging to what could've been a pocket watch, dipped over one side of his waistcoat.

His body was lean, firm, commanding. Her skin tingled, almost as if it could remember the feel of him to her flesh. Her neck ached, remembering the brush of lips and teeth on its tender threads. The sweet smell of him engulfed her, the scent of earth and mint. She wanted to touch him, to have him touch her. A flash of blood came to her eyes, a long crimson trail over pale flesh. The sight did not scare her, but sent chills of antic.i.p.ation and pleasure throughout her body.

A sound of pain resounded over them. Tatiana recognized her father's voice crying out. Vaguely, she thought to hear him pleading to the saints in heaven to protect them from the devil. She ignored him.

The Count's lips moved, turning up slightly on one side, a gentle lift of bored seduction. Tatiana gazed at him, feeling him all around her, possessing her. She took a hesitant step forward, drawn to be near him. Her fingers twitched as if they could already feel the silken strands of his brown hair gripped within them. A light moan left her. Her eyes invited him to her. Her lips offered themselves over the distance. She knew he wouldn't come to her, but would make her walk to be with him.

”Tatiana, no!” Thomas screamed, struggling to his feet. ”You must resist him!”

Thomas made a move as if to stop her progression. The Count struck out his hand without even turning to look at the mortal man, clamping his strong fingers about Thomas' neck. Thomas, who was by no means a weakling, struggled against the hold.

The Count's longer nails bit into the man's tender flesh, drawing droplets of blood. The man's throat gurgled as he fought for air and his bright blue eyes searched for her.

”Tell him,bella mia ,” the Count urged in his low, sultry voice. The tone was so familiar to her. It washed over her dazed senses. She could only see him, hear him, smell him, feel him inside her. ”Tell him you are mine.”

”Tatiana,” Thomas managed to gasp, his word pleading her to deny it. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over his cheeks.

Tatiana opened her mouth to speak as he bid her. A hand darted to her cheek, wrenching her eyes away from those of the creature who enthralled her. She blinked, suddenly realizing that the Count's eyes had been glowing with a yellowish-green, somehow controlling her will. Her father pulled her into his chest, pressing her face into her shoulder, as if that would protect her.

”I don't care what you've done, girl,” William said. ”I can't send you with him. I can't give you to the devil.”

A dark laughter filled the evening air. All eyes turned to the Count. He still held Thomas by the throat. The man was beginning to lose his struggle. Tatiana clung to her father, too afraid to move. She trembled in his arms.

”Foolish man,” the Count stated. His hard gaze shone with dark merriment. ”You can't keep her from me. I only let you have her back because I promised to let her say goodbye to you in return for her pledge to be my eternal slave. She traded her soul for the protection of your son.”

”Henry?” William gasped, not understanding.

”It was your boy who murdered the servant and, like a coward, he begged his sister--a woman--to protect him,” the Count spat in distaste. A slight curl of disgust rose on his upper lip.

The words sunk into the man beneath the Count's hand. Thomas struggled anew, clawing viciously enough to draw blood from his captor's hand and wrist. To Tatiana's horror, she saw the wounds heal almost as instantly as they formed. She hugged tighter to her father.

”No,” she whispered, shaking her head. ”I never would've given myself to you. You lie. Henry would never murder Alice. You lie. You lie.”

In his mounting annoyance, the Count finally turned to study Thomas. He pulled the man in front of him. His lips parted revealing a set of deadly fangs. His hand forced Thomas' head to tilt over to the side. His mouth opened wide as if to bite.

”No, please, don't,” Tatiana screamed. She tore from her father's arms to defend her friend. Thomas was so good, so kind. He didn't deserve this. Not because of her. Her voice fading to a hush, she begged, ”Please, my lord, don't harm him. Don't harm any here.”

The Count stopped. His eyes took her in. His mouth closed.

”Come fulfill your promise to me,bella mia , or this boy will die,” the Count stated. ”Honor your pledge and I will give his life to you. Consider it a gift.”

”I....” She bit her lip, looking at Thomas. His lids fell heavy over his eyes. He was near unconscious. ”Yes. I will come. Only don't hurt anyone else. Please, let him go.”